


Wet

by Medeafic



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Age Play, Asphyxiation, Caning, Desperation, Desperation Play, Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, Enemas, Humiliation, Infantilism, M/M, Omorashi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scent Marking, Slut Shaming, Urination, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 03:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3713980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medeafic/pseuds/Medeafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pinto + watersports, basically. Ongoing, because why not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jouissant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/gifts).



> For J, my fellow depraved sex pervert. <3 Originally written for the Pinto kink meme [for this prompt](http://pintokinkmeme.livejournal.com/1523.html?thread=722419#t722419):  
> Watersports. There can never be enough. Desperation/wetting or more of a dominant marking thing are both totally welcome. Feel free to make things exploratory and fluffy (fluffy watersports, why not) or darker and more intense.

“I’m very sorry,” Chris says again. His piteous eyes are large and innocent, and his fingers twist and wrench at each other. He’s the very picture of regret, and that, he reflects later, is probably where he went wrong. He overdid it, just a tad, and Zach saw right through him.

“No, you’re sorry I noticed it before you got a chance to move the coffee table over it.” He glares at Chris, and then down at the red wine splotch in his brand new oatmeal-and-buff-colored rug.

Chris can’t help the snort of laughter that escapes him. “You got me,” he says. “I mean, I would’ve tried to dab it a bit with my sleeve first. Or something.”

“Or something.” Zach looks decidedly unimpressed.

“Look, I’m sorry, man. Maybe if we get out the carpet cleaner, or I heard white wine—”

_“No,”_ Zach says at once. “You’re not pouring out half a bottle of white wine on half a bottle of red _on my new rug_.”

Chris rolls his eyes. It’s one splotch. Zach’s been anal about everything since he bought this new place—which is exactly why Chris tried to cover it up in the first place. Zach is so _boring_ when he’s being anal. Unless it’s a literal kind of anal involving Chris’s butthole, and the way things are going, there’s not going to be any of that tonight. But Chris is tired of talking about furniture and lighting and LA prices compared to the New York market, and so he can’t bring himself to be contrite enough for Zach’s liking.

“I’m sorry I made a mess on your rug, _Zachary_ ,” he says, in an exasperated tone that shows he’s not sorry about it at all.

Zach takes the wine glass from him and sets it down with finicky, obvious care in the center of the coffee table. “You Pined it,” he says, looking up.

Chris breaks into a grin. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

Zach sets his own drink down, grasps a handful of Chris’s shirt, and tugs Chris close. “You’re a total disaster area, Pine.”

“That’s me,” Chris breathes. They’re nose to nose, and Zach has that look in his eye, the one that suggests maybe a good hard fuck isn’t actually out of the question. “Total disaster. No respect for your property. I should be taught a lesson.”

“You should,” Zach says, decisively.

And that’s how Chris has ended up naked and blindfolded in the shower, hands tied together and artfully strung up over his head. He's not sure what Zach’s hooked him up to—knowing Zach, he very well might have had a bodyweight-bearing hook installed in the ceiling. But Chris doesn’t want to test that theory. He imagines yanking down a lot of plaster and insulation on his head and gives a tremble. Zach would probably never forgive him. It took a long time on his knees scrubbing at the red wine stain before Zach agreed it was clean. Ripping out his bathroom ceiling would take things to a whole new level.

Zach has an amazing shower, though; Chris’ll give him that. It’s big enough that it gives Chris fantasies of squishing a sports team into it, just to see how many he could fit in. If he’s not mistaken, Zach’s situated him at the far end, away from the showerhead. Curious.

He feels around with his fingers and discovers that he’s tied to one of the hooks meant for a towel or robe. Zach does like to work with what he has.

“You gonna clean me up?” Chris hazards with a grin. “Get me ready for you?”

“On the contrary,” Zach says. “I’m going to get you messy.”

With that, he turns on the shower. Chris was right; he’s strung up at the drier end, and although he feels a fine misting of water reach his skin occasionally, for the most part he stays clear of it. He's pretty sure, by the way the water slaps and trickles, that Zach is washing himself down.

He licks his lips, and tries: “No fair, not letting me watch.”

“Here’s what I’m wondering,” Zach says, right in his ear, and Chris jumps. Fucker must have snuck up close under cover of the running water. “Just how dirty do you like to get, Pine?”

Chris swallows.

“Well?” Zach asks. He’s using that voice he only uses when he’s planning on really pushing Chris’s buttons. Really pushing Chris’s boundaries.

“Filthy,” Chris says, but he can’t help another nervous lick at his smirking lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d like to test that.”

Chris lets out a nervous laugh, and hates himself a little. He always wants to keep it together when Zach gets like this, but he never can. “Sure,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Test away.” He’s starting to get chilly despite the humid air in the shower. Zach’s mouth is pressed up against his ear, and his breath feels scalding.

“If you want to stop, you know what word to use,” Zach murmurs.

“I don’t want to stop.” Chris’s heart is banging in his chest. “Quit stalling, Quinto. You want to mess me up? Get on with it.”

That earns him a hard pinch on his nipple, and he gasps, but takes it. He always takes it.

“Fine,” Zach says briskly, and presses up close. He’s rubbing his hard cock against Chris’s, and kissing him with purpose. It’s pretty standard, and not what Chris would call messy, but it’s not like he’s going to complain. Besides, he knows Zach likes to get him worked up and string him along. That’s his usual M.O. and it’s what Chris is expecting.

So when Zach peels himself away after a few minutes of heavy breathing and tongue-sucking, Chris frowns. He can tell Zach is still close by. He can hear panting and if he moves slightly to the right, he brushes against flesh – Zach’s outstretched arm, he guesses, planted on the wall beside Chris’s head.

“You look good like this,” Zach says. "But sometimes you make me wanna slap that smirk off your face, Pine. You know that?”

“You can try,” Chris says at once. He loves face-slapping. Zach knows it.

“Mm,” Zach says, his voice sounding closer again. He must be leaning in. “Maybe later, when I’ve broken you down a little.”

Chris is about to say something brash and insolent, but a sudden sting at his armpit makes him catch his breath.

“Don’t like that?” Zach asks, and does it again, whatever he’s doing—ah, tugging at the hair, Chris realizes.

“Ow,” he hisses, and twitches away. “Damn it, that’s _sensitive._ ”

“Poor baby,” Zach says in a parody of pity. “I’d feel sorrier for you if you hadn’t just messed all over my rug.”

“Jesus, it was just a splash.”

“Uh huh. Just a splash. That’s what you’re going to get, Pine.”

Chris gives a huff of laughter. “You want to spray me with shower water? Kinky.”

“No,” Zach says, right in his face again, his breath uneven and shaky.

“Ohhh,” Chris says, suddenly getting it: Zach’s jerking off on him. “O-kay. Yeah, you’re right, I need splashing. Spray me, baby. Get me wet.”

It doesn’t take long to hit him: warm, viscous and spattering him all the way up his chest. Zach is gasping, resting his head on Chris’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. He starts chuckling, so Chris does too. “That was hot,” he says, and tries to kiss whatever he can of Zach. He ends up with a mouthful of hair. “My turn now?”

Zach straightens up, and Chris feels him run his fingers through the spunk all over Chris’s torso. “You think this makes up for my rug, Pine? No way. Not even close.” He runs a sticky finger across Chris’s lips. “Here you go. You’re always licking your lips. This’ll give you something sweet to taste.”

Chris licks it up with a lewd, flickering tongue, and says, “Sweet as candy, baby. Now come on, don’t you wanna make me shoot for you?”

“You want to mess yourself up, huh?” Zach says, and licks over Chris’s lips. “Mmm.”

“Yeah, why not?” Chris breathes back. “Get me covered in it. Just like your rug, right?”

Zach laughs again, like he has a secret, and Chris starts to think he might be missing something. “You really are a dirty little slut, aren’t you?”

“You know it,” Chris says, still grinning, but his skin is starting to thrum. His cock is heavy between his legs, not hard yet, but nicely filled out. It would only take a few touches from Zach to get him standing to attention. “Come on, give me a hand. Zach?”

But Zach has moved away. “You make a mess on my floor, I make a mess on you. That’s the deal.”

“But you already—” Chris stops, his brain ticking over, and he finally starts to get it. “Ohhh.” They haven’t done it before. But they’ve talked about it. _Zach_ has talked about it, at length, words trickling into Chris’s ear as he fucks him, spinning tales to make him come hard and fast.

“You want it?” Zach asks, his voice low and rough.

Chris’s dick gives a jump. Yeah, he wants it. He smirks, that smirk that Zach talked about slapping off, and says, “I _deserve_ it. Right, Zach?”

“Yeah, you do,” Zach says, “so take it.”

Chris flinches as the first spurt hits him, his stomach muscles clenching at the sensation. Zach is aiming right at his middle, and it feels warm and debauched and _wet_ , and Chris sags against the wall, his mouth hanging open. The flow strays higher, like Zach is trying to hose off the jizz he left all over Chris’s chest. Chris raises his head instinctively, and twists a little. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to avoid it, or get himself really covered in it. He can smell it now, a humid, sharp scent that takes him back, suddenly, to soaked sheets and horrified middle-of-the-night wake ups. Unexpected shame washes over him, and he moans, his knees shaky.

The stream cuts off and he turns his head, tries blindly to find Zach. “Why’d you stop?” he whispers.

“You’re hard, baby.”

“Am I?” Chris wriggles and discovers that yeah, he’s hard. Hard and aching. Fuck.

“You really get off on this, don’t you?”

Chris is feeling weird. Light headed. Yeah, he gets off on this. Who knew? When it becomes clear that Zach’s waiting for an answer, he nods.

“Say it.” He’s come closer again, and Chris wonders wildly if Zach’s standing in it like he is, feet wet in a puddle of… _fuck_. Of Zach’s hot, fresh piss.

He whimpers. It’s still sliding down his stomach, trickling into his pubes.

“ _Say_ it,” Zach insists. “Tell me how much you get off on it.”

It’s still a shock to Chris, but he tries to pull himself together and tell Zach what he wants to hear. “It’s dirty. Depraved. And it’s hot as hell. Keep going, if you…if you can.”

“If I _can?_ ” Zach grabs his chin. “Really?”

“I just meant—” Chris gasps, tries to swallow a nervous giggle. “I just meant if there was any, you know. Left.”

There’s a short silence, in which Chris tries to stop breathing so hard, and licks his lips a few times. Then Zach says: “Oh, there’s plenty left, Pine. You know I don’t like to disappoint you.”

Now that Chris thinks about it, they’ve both drunk a lot tonight. Not wine—they only cracked that with dinner—but they’ve spent the afternoon sucking down water thanks to the hot day, and Chris, well, Chris could stand some relief himself.

“You’re blushing,” Zach croons, his forehead brushing against Chris’s. “Embarrassed?”

“Yeah,” Chris admits. The smell rises up again between them, and Chris knows he should find it distasteful. But somehow he doesn’t.

Zach runs a hard finger down Chris’s chest. “Good. You should be embarrassed. You’re fucking filthy, getting so hard over this. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Chris says again, and bucks under Zach’s hand. He’s painting wet circles up around Chris’s nipples. An unexpected, painful flick at the tip of his cock makes him yelp.

“You’re such a deviant, Pine,” Zach says, and then pulls him close, close so that skin slides against slippery skin. Chris feels delirious, like the heat of his embarrassment is making him feverish. “You want me to drench you? Mark you like a dog?”

“Y- _es_ ,” Chris chokes out, yes, that’s what he wants, to be covered in Zach’s scent, marked, owned—“Drown me in it,” he demands, and with a grunt, Zach does it, starts pissing against him, wetting Chris’s cock thoroughly and completely. Chris can feel it seeping between his legs, running off his balls, flowing down his legs. It pools around his toes again, warm but cooling rapidly, and the background noise of running water in the cubicle makes it seem like he could be showering in it, getting dirtier by the second instead of clean. He moans and writhes against Zach, who clutches him closer.

“Got it all over you, baby,” Zach mutters in his ear. “You’re sopping wet, soaking in my piss and just about ready to pop. Nasty little bitch.” The flood lessens, stops, and Zach pulls back. Chris cries out.

“More,” he begs, and even his ears must be crimson now. They’re burning. “Zach, I want more. Please.”

“I know you do, baby,” Zach says sympathetically. “But I’m all out. Besides—” He grabs at Chris’s dick, and gives it a tug. “You’re ready to blow.”

He is, too; and Zach’s hand moves quickly and smoothly over Chris’s cock, jacking him just the way Chris likes it, fast and easy over his wet skin. “Come on, baby, time to add your load to the mess, you filthy slut. You were desperate to shoot just a minute ago—”

“Fuck,” Chris chokes out, and he comes. It feels like his balls are wringing themselves inside out, his whole body convulsing as he spills, splatters all over himself just like Zach wants. Zach is aiming it right back at Chris’s chest. He squeezes out the last of it and wiping his hand off on Chris’s thigh.

“You,” he says calmly, “are disgusting.”

Chris says nothing. He’s still trying to catch his breath.

“Stand up straight, for Christ’s sake,” Zach sighs, and Chris shuffles upward, pulls his shoulders back. “You can wait there while I clean myself up.”

Chris nods, relieved. Zach always makes sure to give him some space right after they do anything like this, because Chris needs that space to put himself back together. Later, much later, he’ll accept cuddles and pampering and a cup of herbal tea in bed, but right after? Right after he needs to readjust, and he needs to do that all on his own.

The soothing sounds of running water help him relax. By the time Zach has finished showering, whistling tunelessly as he does, Chris is feeling back to his normal self. Almost.

Zach turns the shower off, and there’s silence between them for a moment.

Chris clears his throat. “You gonna untie me anytime tonight?” he asks, and gives a shaky version of his cocky grin.

“We’re not done,” Zach says.

Chris’s eyebrows shoot up. “Huh,” he says. “Was not expecting that.”

“The deal was, you get messy.”

“Uh huh. Feeling pretty sticky over here.” Chris gives a cautious sniff. Yeah. “I could really do with a shower.”

“And you’ll get one, once I’m satisfied you’ve learned your lesson.”

Goddamn this blindfold, anyway. If he could just see Zach…see what he wants… “I’ve learned my lesson,” Chris says carefully. “Believe me, I’ve learned it.”

“I’m glad you think so. But I don’t agree. I think you still need one more experience to really drive it home.”

Chris draws in a breath. “What do you want to do to me?”

“I want you to do it to yourself.”

“Um, okay. And what do you want me to do?”

“ _You_ know.”

Chris is about to snap back, _No I don’t_ , when it clicks. He licks his lips nervously. “I can’t,” he protests.

“You can.”

“Not on fucking _command_ like that, I can’t.”

“Then we’re going to be waiting here for a while. But that’s okay. We have time. You can think about what you’ve done. You can stand there in that pool of bodily fluids and _re-e-ally_ think about it.” Zach draws out the word like he’s stretching his arms up and resettling somewhere – on the wall, Chris guesses – to wait. “Or you can just let go, relax, and show me that you’ve learned your lesson. Unless you have something specific you want to say to me?”

Zach’s wondering about the safeword. Chris considers it, but—as shameful as this whole process has been—he’s still enjoying it. Still getting a kick out of it. So he shakes his head and tries to get his bladder to cooperate.

It takes a while; takes some time to get to a place where Chris is calm enough, blocking things out enough that maybe he can…if he thinks about waterfalls and running water…God, why did Zach have to turn off the shower…he really _does_ have to go, is the irony—

At last, with his mind fixed on an imaginary view of a rolling ocean, Chris manages it. It’s beginning that’s the worst thing, almost painful, but once he gets through that—a tentative hot rush that starts, stops, and starts again—he lets go with a rush. He does it.

He stands there and pisses himself in front of his boyfriend, and burns with humiliation.

“That’s much better, baby,” Zach coos. “Now I know you’re really sorry. Aren’t you?”

Chris sobs out a _yes_ , and tries to hide his blazing face in his bicep.

“You’ve learned your lesson?” Zach asks.

Chris groans. “Yes. Fuck, yes, I learned my lesson. _Please_ , Zach. Please. I need to clean up now.”

“Yeah, you do. You stink. I can smell you from here.”

God. Chris can feel his cock twitching. “Zach, please,” he says again. “Please.”

“Okay. I believe you. I’ll wash you down now, baby, okay? You just have to stand there and let me take care of you.”

Chris hears the shower start again, and almost protests—how exactly is Zach going to wash him all the way up the other end of the cubicle?—when he remembers that Zach’s shower head is detachable. He’s going to hose Chris down like an animal.

Just as Chris realizes it, the water hits him, hard, and he recoils from it. It’s cool. Not freezing, but definitely cool, and he’s shivering within seconds. Zach keeps it up, though, sluicing him down with water and then coming close enough to scrub at him with soap and a washcloth, like Chris is one of his pets who got muddy on a walk outside.

Zach rinses him one final, thorough time and then, once the water is turned off, and the bathroom is quiet again except for the drip-drip of the drain, unhooks Chris’s bound wrists from the hook, and unties them. He takes some time massaging the blood back into Chris’s fingertips, and then he gently slides the blindfold off.

Chris blinks, disoriented and blinded by the sudden light, but then Zach’s face comes into focus. “Wow,” is the first thing Chris says.

“Yeah,” Zach agrees. “Pretty much.” He wraps Chris up in a large towel and starts rubbing at him, drying him off. Chris stands there, staring at his feet.

_Holy fuckballs, you just wet yourself in front of Zach_ , he’s thinking.

Zach’s hands slow down on the drying. “You want some time alone again, or…?”

Chris looks up at him and breaks into a smile. He can’t help it. “Actually,” he says, “I could do with some assurance that you’re not gonna pee on me every time I accidentally spill something round here.”

Zach snorts. “Promise I won’t.” He laughs, too, and then asks, “You sure you’re okay?”

Chris nods. “A little dazed. That was…”

“Yeah.”

“Can we do it again?”

Zach gives a small, pleased smile to himself, but Chris catches it before he ducks his head. “Yes,” Zach says. “We can. But next time, Pine—” He kisses Chris lightly on the mouth before finishing: “—next time, no blindfold. Next time, I _really_ wanna make you squirm.”


	2. Chapter 2

Next time comes pretty quickly. Zach can’t stop thinking about it, and every time he does he gets the same wriggling delight up the back of his spine: _so wrong, what was he thinking, why was it so fucking hot_ …and God, how much he wants to do it again. He can’t help the disbelieving giggle that bubbles out of him every time he thinks about Chris standing there, trembling, his dick hard for it as Zach covered him.

Oh, God. And the way Chris’s face screwed up in concentration as he pissed himself, all over his golden thighs, face bright pink and his hands clenched in sweaty fists…

Sometimes the spine-tingling turns into ball-tingling and more, and Zach has to go deal with it. He jacks off into the toilet having desperate, degenerate, and frankly improbable fantasies of being buried inside Chris’s ass right here over the bowl, Chris letting loose frantic, uncontrollable spurts while he takes his fucking—

Ugh. He’s a bit appalled at himself after that one. But then next time, he adds in a fantasy coda making Chris clean up the inevitable mess left afterwards, and he shoots so hard and loud that Chris bangs on the door and asks if he’s okay.

It should probably be more disturbing than it is. But he just can’t get it out of his mind.

Chris, too, obviously can’t forget about it. He seems to dream about it, judging by the way he jerks awake in a panic some nights, feeling around tentatively with his hand before he dashes for the bathroom. Zach can’t stop his half-conscious smirk, and has to press his face into the pillow and ignore his dick until he falls into sleep again.

Maybe it’s more intense than some of the things they’ve done, but Zach is happy to explore if they both get off on it. It’s not like using paddles or biting Chris’s shoulders into a blue and yellow mass, or making him rim Zach until his tongue goes numb—those things all have their charms, of course. But there’s something deeply and satisfactorily carnal about being able to pee all over and mark out his—his—goddamn it, his territory.

He’s in the middle of stacking the dishwasher one morning, still in his boxers, when he decides to do something about it. He has that rubber sheet that friends with a not-quite-continent toddler left behind accidentally after spending a few nights. That will do nicely, and even better if he doesn’t tell Chris it’s there – see how far he can push Chris when it comes down to it, play with that line of socialized behaviors versus his debasement kink.

He’s staring into space with a stupid-yet-blissful expression, holding a dirty plate, when he realizes Chris is eyeing him from the sofa on the other side of the loft. He’s been lounging there since he got up, guzzling coffee like it’s blood and he’s a recently-risen vampire.

And he’s rubbing a hand up his inner thigh.

“Can’t keep your hand off it?” Zach says tartly.

Chris stretches further so Zach can see the outline of his cock under his pajama pants, thick and full, but not hard. Not yet. Chris grins. “Nope.” He rolls his head around on the back of the sofa with a groan and sticks his hand shamelessly into his pants, squeezing at his junk.

Zach clanks a few more plates into the dishwasher before he says, “You’re in a weird mood these days, Pine.”

“I know,” Chris sighs, and then flops around on the couch, lying down and setting his head on his bent arm so he can watch Zach in comfort. The other hand is still rummaging around in his pants.

“Clingy,” Zach continues. “I can’t even take a leak without you standing right there next to me.” It’s the plain truth; Chris has been awfully eager about it, enough that Zach’s perversion-fueled masturbation into the toilet has only happened twice.

Chris’s face flames, and he sinks lower into the couch. Zach turns on the dishwasher and the gentle _swish-swish-shoosh_ of water fills the silence. Zach leans up against the counter and looks at him. Smirks.

“Fucker,” Chris mumbles.

“Aw, come on, baby,” Zach says. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’re doing? You’re easy to read, if nothing else. And I don’t mind if you want to watch me. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

Chris pulls his hand away from his dick, turns on his side on the sofa and pretends to watch whatever’s on TV. One hot red ear and his flushed neck give him away.

Zach walks over to refill his coffee, and then sits down on the other end of the sofa, squeezing at Chris’s bare toes. “It’s okay to want that, you know.”

Chris squinches up his face and turns on his back again, laying his feet on Zach’s lap. “Is it, though? It’s kinda…”

“Depraved,” Zach agrees, massaging his ankles. “Dirty. Perverted. Deviant.”

“Jesus, Zach—” Chris starts in protest, but Zach forestalls him by sliding a hand all the way up the inside of his leg and cups his balls.

“That’s the way I like you best, Pine. You know that.”

It takes a second, but Chris gives in to his smile in the end. He squeezes his foot behind the small of Zach’s back and tugs at him with his legs until Zach stretches out on top of him along the sofa.

“We do some weird shit together,” Chris murmurs, after kissing him for a while. “Don’t we?”

“We do.”

“So.”

“So?”

“So we could do that again, sometime? Play around with—with that?”

Normally, Zach would make him spell it out, word by word, exactly what he wants to do and have done to him. But he’s feeling charitable today after a good sleep-in, and besides, ideas have already sparked. “Yeah, of course. I already told you that.”

Chris gives a pleased groan when Zach slides a thigh between his legs. “No blindfold next time?”

“No blindfold.” Zach spends some time sucking a mark into the junction of Chris’s neck and shoulder, and lets his mind wander, ticking over a few details. Yeah. It should work. Neither of them have to be anywhere in the foreseeable future, so it’ll give them recovery time.

When he breaks off, Chris protests, but Zach pushes him back firmly. “I have to feed you before you turn into a Gremlin,” he says.

“That’s not how that worked,” Chris sighs. “It was don’t feed them after midnight and—”

“Pancakes?” Zach heads him off.

“Pancakes,” Chris agrees fervently, and then starts to sit up. “I gotta pee again. Too much coffee.”

Zach puts a hand on his shoulder, pushing him gently back down. “No, you don’t need to pee.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“No. You don’t.” He keeps Chris’s gaze until Chris gets it, and his cheeks turn pink.

“Oh,” Chris says. “I guess I don’t.”

It just slips out of Zach then: “Good boy,” and he brushes a hand through Chris’s hair. “Not till you’re allowed, okay?”

Chris nods. “Okay,” he says, in something close to a whisper.

Zach makes sure his cups are full all through their pancake brunch; juice, coffee, plain water, whatever Chris wants. Chris tries not to drink too much of anything, but he can’t help himself. The man loves his coffee. By the time the pancakes are gone, he’s squirming around in his chair, pressing his thighs together, crossing and uncrossing his legs.

“I think we’d better do whatever it is we’re doing,” he tells Zach. “Um, 'cause I don’t think I can get much fuller.”

Zach sits back in his chair and looks him over. “Nah,” he says. “I don’t think so. Not yet.”

“Seriously, man—”

“I said no. _Control_ yourself, Christopher.” With a great effort, Chris squeezes his legs together and places his hands on the table. He looks like he’s expending most of his concentration on keeping his muscles tight. Zach slips a hand between his legs and squeezes himself; he’s heavy in his pants. Chris makes a choking noise and closes his eyes. Zach continues, “Now you can help me clean up the kitchen again, since you lounged around drinking coffee all morning.”

Chris gives a wince at the mention of drinking, but helps gather up the dirty plates. “The machine’s still on, so—”

“So you can wash by hand, baby. Don’t be lazy.”

Chris looks like he’s going to protest, but he shuts himself up at the sight of one raised eyebrow from Zach. “Okay,” he says miserably.

“I’ll help,” Zach offers. “Dry,” he adds, just to see the sudden look of hope on Chris’s face wiped away.

There isn’t much to clean up, but Zach makes sure he stands at Chris’s shoulder, pointing out every stain and mark, making sure Chris keeps his hands in the water as much as possible. Even with rubber gloves on, Chris is obviously finding it hard dealing with the splashes and plinks of water. When he’s drained the sink and pulled the gloves off with a relieved sigh, Zach cuddles up to him from behind.

“Thanks, baby,” he says. “You did good.” He cinches his arms in tight, and presses Chris up against the counter, so his lower stomach pushes into it.

“Gah!” Chris yelps, and struggles. “Zach, c’mon. I _really_ have to go.”

“You can go,” Zach says, and Chris shudders in relief. “Right here, though.”

“What?” Chris goes very still.

“If you want to go so bad, you can go right here. It’s tiles. Easy to clean.”

“No- _ooo_.”

“Then I guess you don’t really need to go.”

“Uh, _yeah_ I do,” Chris insists. “Come on, this is—this is dangerous, you know! People have _died_ , Zach.” He sounds so serious that Zach bursts out laughing. “I’m not kidding,” Chris grumbles.

“If you need to go, then go.” Zach nuzzles at his neck. “No? Okay. Well, _I_ need to go.”

“Nice for some,” Chris mutters.

Zach releases him and starts walking away. He glances back. “What are you waiting for?” he asks. “You want to watch me so bad all the time, and here I am, offering.”

Chris goes pink again. It’s really very appealing, Zach thinks. Even his chest is blotchy. “I’m good, thanks,” he says.

Zach crooks a finger at him in a _come on_ gesture, and Chris, biting his lip, follows obediently.

“You can stand right here,” Zach says, positioning him in the bathroom right next to the toilet. He fishes his cock out of his boxers, and then looks over at Chris. “You’ve been a good boy this morning. And hey, since you’ve been so good, and I’m being so nice to you, why don’t you aim for me?”

Chris, switching from foot to foot, looks away. “Jesus, Zach,” he breathes.

“You want to?”

It takes a second, but then Chris nods. “Yeah, I want to.” He reaches out a tentative hand, so Zach grabs it and holds it on his cock. Thankfully, he’s not hard. But he will be soon if he doesn’t hurry this along, and that’ll just make everything much more difficult.

“Careful, now,” he says, and takes away his hand, leaving his dick balanced nicely in Chris’s fingers. “If you make me pee everywhere, I’ll make you clean it up.”

Chris’s fingers clasp tighter for a moment. “You will?” he says, breathless.

Zach pulls him in for a brief kiss. “I will,” he says. “And you don’t want to know _how_ I’ll make you clean it.” Chris gives a bona fide moan at that, and then Zach starts pissing, and Chris moans again.

It’s so close to his fantasy that Zach has to hurry himself, push it out, before he really gets hard. It’s weird, too, not holding his own dick while he does it. He reaches out to hold Chris’s instead, and Chris gives a small grunt. He’s assiduous in his pointing of Zach’s cock, the tip of his tongue peeking out of his lips at one side, and his eyes fixed immovably on the stream. His lips press tight together when the urge hits him harder, and Zach can’t resist feeling around Chris’s dick, pressing in a little at the base.

“Stop,” Chris gasps at that, and jerks away. His hand yanks Zach to the side as well, and Zach finds himself spraying the wall tiles for a moment, before he stops himself. He can’t help laughing.

Chris is mortified, though, his one clean hand over his mouth and the other, which Zach is pretty sure got doused with his piss, clutching between his legs. Chris bends over and adds his other hand, pressing and pressing, his eyes closed, his mouth wet and open.

Zach lets him stay there like that while he finishes his piss alone, flushes, and washes his hands. Chris sits slowly and carefully on the side of the tub, hands still pushed between his legs, like he can press away all that liquid inside him as long as he pushes hard enough.

Zach wanders over to him, stands in front of him. He’s left his cock hanging out of his boxers. There’s a drip stain on the leg of his underwear, and Chris, when he opens his eyes, seems to focus on that before looking up.

“Zach,” he whispers. “I really, _really_ need to go. Please.”

“I told you, baby,” Zach says sympathetically, and sweeps a damp lock of hair back from his forehead. “If you want to go, go. Here. There are tiles here, too. You won’t mess the carpet, or my rug, like you did before.”

Chris shakes his head.

“Is that it?” Zach asks, interested. “You don’t want to mess up my place? You must’ve learned your lesson better than I thought.” Chris lets out a whine, and the sound of it, pitiful and weak, makes Zach want to see if he can push it further. “I told you you’d have to clean up any messes,” he says carefully, and Chris’s eyes flutter open in shock. He goes a pleasing deep red color. “Didn’t I?”

“Please,” Chris moans. “Please…”

Zach doesn’t know whether he’s begging to do it or _not_ do it. “I have this fantasy,” he says, stroking Chris’s face, “where you’re on your knees licking up my piss. Nose down, ass high up in the air, and your bladder just as full as it is right now. Maybe I filled you up with an enema, too, and plugged you, so you’re full up to the brim, sloshing around inside you and you all tight and ready to burst like a water balloon. Did you know I think about that?”

Chris, clenching his teeth, shakes his head. His eyes are closed again, and he’s rocking back and forth, thighs clamped around his hands, which are in turn clamped between his legs.

“Unfortunately,” Zach continues with a sigh, “I don’t think your tongue is going to do a great job of cleaning up my walls and floor. So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to stand up, wet yourself here on my bathroom floor, and then you can clean up the place with the mop and bucket.”

Chris shakes his head vehemently no.

“No? Hmm.” Zach tips a finger under his chin and lifts his face so he can see it properly. Chris’s eyes, when they open, are desperate, blue, and shining. “You don’t think that’s a better idea?”

“I can’t—go,” Chris grits out. “Not…not on the floor. Please let me use the toilet. _Please_.”

“No,” Zach says placidly. “You can go here on the floor, or you can come into the bedroom and we can continue playing there. But I won’t be easy on you if you do; and either way, you’re not using the toilet. Now you can suck my dick till it’s hard while you think about your options. And maybe, if you’re lucky, there are a few drops left you can taste.”

Zach kind of expected him to balk at it, but Chris’s mouth is on him almost before he gets the words out, and Chris’s tongue is probing into his slit, like he’s hoping to provoke one last spurt.

“Ah, fuck,” Zach gasps, but grabs at the back of Chris’s head when he tries to pull off. “No, don’t stop.”

He’s a talented cocksucker, Chris is, and he’s making full use of his lingual range at the moment. Zach almost wishes he had something left to get out, just to see what Chris would do. He runs an affectionate hand through Chris’s hair and gives it a tug, just to make Chris hum a protest. “You’d swallow it, wouldn’t you?” Zach breathes.

Chris looks up with wide, serious eyes, and nods.

Okay. That’s enough, Zach’s brain is saying, because he has to move this along, and if he shoots here in this bathroom, it'd take too long to get it up again. He’s not eighteen anymore. Hell, he’s not thirty-two anymore. It’d certainly take him longer than Chris would be able to hold out, based on the haunted expressions on Chris’s face before Zach stuffed his dick into it.

He pushes Chris back and holds him there with a finger in the middle of his forehead. “Enough,” he says. “You thought it through, Pine?”

Chris’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he says, “Zach, I can’t…please just let me—”

“No,” Zach snaps. “Come on, Pine. You know the score. You have two choices, and using the toilet is _not one of them_. Don’t make me say it again.”

Chris glares at him, but then doubles over as another spasm hits him, gasping, and Zach crouches down in front of him, careful where he waves his dick. “Come on, baby. What’s it going to be?”

“I’m not pissing myself,” he says through clenched teeth.

Zach sighs and stands. “Alright, have it your way. You have ten minutes to clean this bathroom, and then you can meet me in the bedroom.”

Chris is almost in tears. It’s truly remarkable how obstinate he can be, even when digging his heels in like this isn’t going to get him anywhere. “Fine,” he mutters, and stands up carefully.

Zach catches his arm. “And Pine—if you even _think_ about relieving yourself, I will make things much more uncomfortable for you than they are right now. Do you understand me?”

Chris worries his bottom lip between his teeth, but then nods. “Yeah,” he says.

Zach pulls him close and kisses him, right next to his ear. He murmurs, “I know you think you can outlast me; that I won’t make you do it in the bedroom. You’re really willing to bet on that?”

Chris stands a little straighter, and tries to keep his grin under wraps. “I know you, Zach,” he says. “Making me firehose all over your bedroom? Not gonna happen.”

“We’ll see,” Zach says, and smacks his ass. “Get to it.”

While Chris is waddling around with the mop and bucket, Zach takes the opportunity to quickly strip his bed and lay down the rubber sheet. It doesn’t cover the whole bed—in fact, it’s pretty small—but he has a mattress protector underneath it, and besides, he can work with constraints. Work with what he has. He re-makes the bed with old sheets, and lays a few towels over the floor next to the wall, the ones he keeps meaning to donate to Noah and Skunk. And speaking of the dogs—

He discovers them content and dozing under the warmth of a sunbeam in the lounge room. Harold is in his own sunspot at the other window, deep into his catnap. Just in case, though, Zach’ll shut the bedroom door. They don’t need interested doggy noses investigating.

Chris, having finished cleaning duty, is waiting in the bedroom for him, standing in the middle of the room biting at his lip and twisting his fingers together. He’s wincing at the ceiling every now and then.

“I’m glad your PJs are white,” Zach tells him, closing the door and leaning back against it to look him over. “When you piss yourself it’ll be nice and obvious.”

Chris snorts. “Yeah, well. You just keep waiting for that. I think it’s passing over now, anyway. The urge.” He gives a little sigh, and hooks his hands behind his back. “So, your bathroom throne is sparkling, your majesty.”

“It better be.” Zach strolls up to him and rubs a hand over Chris’s bare chest, tweaking at his nipples. “You know, you made your choice. When you let go, it’s going to be here, in the bedroom. On the carpet. You don’t get to run for the tiles.”

“Suits me just fine,” Chris says, but his voice wavers a little on the last word. He tries to cover it up by hooking his arms around Zach’s waist and kissing at his shoulder.

Zach is impressed by how far Chris is willing to push it. It’s not like him to be this invested in winning, however far either of them can ever be said to be a winner or a loser in the games they play. But still, Chris usually gives in earlier. And easier. Zach runs a hand down his stomach – toned but still with that extra layer of softness that Chris curses and Zach loves to nuzzle into – and pushes in gently. The muffled squeak Chris gives shows how close he still is to the edge.

Zach’s cock has calmed down some since the bathroom, but that small tortured cry gets him filling out again. He hustles Chris over to the wall and pushes him around until he’s positioned: hands up against the wall, shoulder-width apart, and his legs spread.

“When you _do_ let go, and mess up my carpet, you’re still going to have to clean it up. You know that, right?”

“I’m not going to,” Chris says doggedly, looking down at the towels on the floor around him. “I’m not.”

Zach says nothing in reply, but leaves Chris to think about his predicament for a minute, while he rummages around in the back of the wardrobe. Yes—here it is. The cane. He smiles, keeps smiling as he saunters back. Chris is still standing obediently, still as a statue, until Zach slides the tip of the cane up the inside of his leg.

Chris squawks, jerks away, and then rearranges himself at the wall, trying to regain his composure.

“Still think you’re gonna hold out?” Zach asks.

“Yeah,” Chris says. “I think so.” He swallows.

“Okay,” Zach says with a sigh and a shrug. “Unless you want to save your ass the pain and just let go right now, standing on those towels. You want to do that?”

“No,” Chris says, more determined now.

“You’re going to do it one way or the other,” Zach starts, figuring he should at least _try_ to reason with Chris.

“Are you gonna chat at me or are you gonna hit me?” Chris asks coolly, and even tugs his pajama pants down at the back, hooking them under his ass.

It’s hard not to feel admiration, even if it _is_ grudging. “Christ, you are _really_ pushing things today, aren’t you? Fine. If that’s how you want to play it.” Zach takes a step back, takes aim at that plump target, and stripes it with the cane, three times rapidly.

When he stops, Chris lets out a long breath and sags against the wall.

“No,” Zach says. “Stand up. Make sure that ass is right where I want it.” He’s pretty sure Chris is swearing at him, but at least he’s smart enough to do that in the privacy of his own head. “That was just your warm-up, Pine,” Zach says sweetly. “Here we go.”

Let the record show that Chris Pine is one stubborn son of a bitch, Zach thinks. Because Chris takes it; he takes it like a man, in fact, standing there with his butt pushed out and his hands plastered against the wall, and only the sway of his hips giving away a slight lack of complete control. But Zach is ready to bet it’s only a matter of time, and what do you know, he’s right, as usual. As always. During the third round of stinging strokes, about the fourth in, Chris whips his hands down from the wall and locks them over his crotch. He falls sideways into the wall, bending in on himself and gasping for air. Zach sees a few dark, wet splotches on the towels.

“Aw, baby,” Zach says. “Did you make a mess?”

Chris’s face is crimson, and his knuckles are whitening.

“Hey, come on, don’t grab at yourself like that,” Zach says sympathetically. “Let me see.”

Chris shakes his head no, biting and biting at his lower lip.

“Christopher,” Zach says, and he drops the sympathy act, prods Chris in his stomach with the tip of the cane, making him moan. “Stand up and let me see.”

With an effort that clearly costs him, Chris straightens up and pushes himself off the wall with a shrug of his shoulder. His eyes are closed, screwed tight shut, and he hesitates before whipping his hands away and clasping them behind his back. He hangs his head.

“Oh, you _did_ ,” Zach breathes, as he sees the small wet patch on the front of Chris’s pajamas. “You did make a mess, baby. Just a little mess. You’ve still got buckets of it inside you though, don’t you?”

“Can I…”

“Can you what?” Zach asks, attention still taken up by the sight of Chris’s white pants turning oh-so-hazily translucent over his cock.

“Can I go use the toilet now?”

“Of course not,” Zach says gently, and taps the cane into his hand, up and down, up and down. “No toilet. Did I, or did I _not_ tell you that?”

“Y-you did.”

“Yes, I did. So that means you go here and now, on these towels, or we keep playing. What’s it going to be?”

Chris lets out a noise that might be a sob. His eyes are still closed tight, and he’s the same fiery color all over his face, neck and chest. “I _can’t_ , Zach.”

“You can. Let go, just let it all out. Let me watch you right here, making a pool on my carpet. ’Cause I don’t think the towels will catch it all, will they? There’s too much in you now. You waited too long, baby. Go on, let it go for me.”

It’s a beautiful thing watching Chris’s face; his uncertainty, his determination, his shame and his chagrin all written clear as day. He’s close to tears again, staring up at the ceiling like he’s looking for divine intervention. He seems to reach his decision, and stands up straight again, wiping his damp hands down the sides of his pants. “No,” he says. “I won’t.”

“Alright,” Zach says. “Get on the bed.” _That_ shocks him, Zach is delighted to see. Chris gapes at him until Zach nods. “Bed. Get on it.”

“But…”

“Look, don’t get me wrong. I’m over the fucking moon that you’re so determined not to make a mess of my place anymore, but you also need to know that I keep my word. I can’t give in and let you go pee in the toilet like a big boy, can I?” That earns him a glare. “No,” Zach breezes on, “I can’t. You need to learn your lesson, and today’s lesson is all about understanding that when I say something…” He comes close, wraps a hand around Chris’s cock over his wet pants, and squeezes. “When I say something, baby, _I mean it_. So you can piss yourself, right here and now, or you can get on the fucking bed.”

Zach dries his hand off by rubbing it down Chris’s chest. His skin is warm, clammy even, and Chris is watching him with guarded eyes. When Chris opens his mouth, Zach half expects to hear his safeword coming out, but Chris says, “Okay,” and climbs up on the bed. He lies face down, rearranging his pajama pants again so they’re tucked under his ample buttcheeks.

Fondness wells up in Zach’s chest. Chris is so down for it all. Zach’s really very lucky; he needs to remember that more often. Later on, after he’s put Chris back together, he’ll order some of those tacos Chris is currently obsessed with from the place down on the next block. Yeah, Chris will like that.

Chris won’t like _this_ , though, and that thought makes Zach hard in his boxers. He strips them off, and then leans over Chris on the bed, running a hand over the hot red stripes on his ass. They’re starting to raise up, definite lines under Zach’s fingers, and Chris whimpers.

“Turn over,” Zach tells him. “When you lose it, I want to _see_ you lose it.”

Chris turns over on shaky limbs, eyeing the cane in Zach’s fingers. Zach smiles and lays it on the floor. “Nah, we’re done with that. From now on, I’m just gonna use my hands on you, baby.” He crawls onto the bed and snuggles up to Chris, propping himself up on his elbow, his head resting in his hand. “I know it must be hurting you. Right?”

“Yeah,” Chris admits.

“Yeah. It’s hurting your tummy, isn’t it?” Zach starts rubbing at his stomach, getting lower, until Chris is squirming under his hand. “Keep still,” Zach says sharply, and Chris does. He takes it again, Zach’s hand pressing at him and prodding, sliding under his waistband and squeezing around his dick. “Come on, time to go potty.”

“Fuck, can you—can you _not_?” Chris asks, flailing again.

“You know, if you’d been a good boy in the bathroom, we wouldn’t be here now,” Zach tells him, and pushes his fingers right into where—yes—yes, he’s got it, right on, because Chris convulses and then goes rigid, and Zach feels a warm squirt of liquid over his fingers. “Yeah, there you go,” he says, but it stops.

“No, no, no,” Chris begs, the heels of his hands jammed into his eyes. “Nononono—”

“Yes, you’re so good, come on, you’re safe, you can let go—” Zach doesn’t let up with his massaging hand, and finally, with a growl that ends in a whine, Chris _does_ let go. Zach feels it flood over his hand, over Chris’s stomach, and he laughs in delight.

Chris pushes his face into Zach’s neck and shudders all over. It’s soaking his pants, and Zach can smell it, the scent of him rising up. It strikes something deep in his lizard brain, and he presses in again to Chris’s stomach, hard, until Chris cries out, and spurts again, his legs spasming and his hands clutching at Zach’s shoulders.

“Oh, fuck,” Zach whispers. “Oh, baby.” He’s so hard he thinks he’ll blow at one touch, and in fact it doesn’t take much more. He clambers on top of Chris, holding him down with wet hands by the wrists, and grinds into him, humping at Chris’s wet crotch like a dog. “Fuck,” he says again, because it’s all he can say and all he can do. He shoots when Chris finally opens his damp eyes and looks right at him. “ _Fuck._ ”

It takes a minute to come back to things. Chris is shaking underneath him and Zach, his primal needs assuaged, rolls off him at once, feeling guilty and alarmed. “Are you—”

Chris is laughing. That fucker.

“Oh my God,” he says. “I am _not_ cleaning this up. This is all on you, Quinto.”

“Ahh, fuck,” Zach sighs one last time, and flops down on the bed. “You wanna come before I—”

“No. I want to go and have a shower for five hours, and then you can blow me for another five, because _Jesus Christ, Zachary_.”

“I know,” Zach says weakly. “Ugh. I know.”

“Yeah, you know.” Chris kisses him then, half laughing still. “ _Go potty?_ ”

“Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay. Really. It’s really okay,” Chris says, and stops laughing, so Zach will know it’s really okay. “I can’t believe you made me do it _on your bed_ , though.”

Zach smiles. “Yeah.”

“You’ll need a new mattress.”

“Nah. Rubber sheet underneath.”

Chris gives him a respectful look. “Wow. You really commit.”

Zach could mention the toddler, or he could bask in the admiration and afterglow. “I do,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head. “And I should totally make you sleep in that wet patch. But go shower.”

Chris, shaking his head and grinning, gingerly peels off his sodden pajama pants and balls them up before getting off the bed. “Join me?” he says.

“Yeah, in a second.” Chris is in the bathroom before Zach yells, “And we should get tacos later.”

“I fucking love you, man,” Chris hollers back.


	3. Chapter 3

The whole pee-thing is not something Chris ever thought he’d be into, but he is. He really, _really_ is. His dreams have become distinctly…Freudian. Fire hoses and gushing geysers and water snakes mix with his more standard sex dreams. He wakes up aching and has to really think about whether he wants to come or piss.

His fantasies are getting kind of extreme, but Zach doesn’t seem to mind. Zach, in fact, coaxes them out of him, teasing out the details when Chris confesses, embellishing and elaborating and encouraging until Chris is so hot that he’s begging for Zach to fill him up and – and Chris isn’t _entirely_ sure what he means by that, but Zach sure does his best to oblige, leaving Chris fucked out and dripping with come.

They haven’t done it again, though, played around with piss. It’s making Chris antsy. Last time, Zach gave him a protracted and excellent cocksucking in the shower afterwards, and cleaned up the bed, _and_ fed him tacos until Chris had to lie down for a while. Best Saturday ever. The sex they have has been heightened since then, like they’re both reeling together in the same filthy erotic feeling and baiting each other to see who’ll break first.

It’s Zach, oddly enough. Chris was pretty sure _he’d_ be the one to crack, because he doesn’t have a great record of self-restraint, and besides, Zach made it damn clear last time he could outwait Chris in their games. Remembering how it felt to wet the bed like that is one of the memories that gets Chris off the hardest, and that’s partly because he loves to be pushed to breaking point, pushed until he absolutely _has_ to give in and _let go_.

And yeah, he’s thought a lot about what it all might mean, psychologically speaking.

But it’s not Chris who reaches his breaking point this time, in this new unspoken game they’ve been playing, _Who’s Going to Initiate First?_ No. It’s Zach. It’s Zach who follows him into the classy bathroom of a Hollywood hotel.

They’ve been paraded like zoo animals all evening for a bunch of executives and producers at a studio party, and Chris is tired of it. He’s been taking out his frustrations through incessant eating of hors d’oeuvres, and chasing them with champagne, which has inevitably made its way through him. He needs the bathroom.

The bathroom is huge and fancy and has a waiting room before the actual toilets, like it’s important to have an extra space between bodily functions and the ballroom. Chris doesn’t take it in, though; he’s gotta go, so he barges through to the urinals without preamble. They’re all free, and he unzips with relief at the first one, ignoring the door that opens a moment after him.

He can’t ignore Zach when he sidles up right next to him and looks down at Chris’s cock.

“Uh,” Chris says, and gives an embarrassed little chuckle. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Chris stares resolutely at the tiles, holding his dry dick.

“Pee shy, Pine?” Zach asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Fuck you,” Chris tells him, making sure to enunciate each word clearly.

“Maybe,” Zach replies, and then reaches down to tweak the end of Chris’s dick.

Chris yelps, and sidesteps away, covering his junk protectively. Zach, that asshole, is laughing so hard he has to lean a hand on the wall above the urinal.

Chris ignores him, and steps back into position. “Get bent, Quinto. Leave my poor dick alone. And what the hell was that supposed to mean, anyway? Maybe?”

“Mm. You noticed that.” Zach comes in close and shoves a hand down the back of Chris’s pants. “Come on, pee already. I wanna watch. You watch me all the time.”

“Zach!” Chris squirms away. “This is a _public bathroom_ ,” he hisses. “Anyone could walk in!”

“Alright, so I’ll make like I’m in here for a good reason.” With that, Zach unzips and stands at the urinal right next to Chris’s close enough that they can bump shoulders. He pulls out his cock - which, Chris notices, is half-hard, and under Zach’s working hand is only getting harder.

“You’re really going to jerk off in a public bathroom?” Chris asks weakly. He’s getting hard too, which is not something he needs right now.

“Oh, baby,” Zach breathes in his ear. “My people have a long and happy tradition of getting off in public bathrooms; you know that. Now come on, get it all out. You must be full. I saw you guzzling all that champagne.”

Chris is pink to the tips of his ears, or feels like it, but he ignores Zach, and Zach’s flushed, hard cock right there next to him if he just glances down and to the right, and tries to concentrate on his bladder.

The door to the bathroom swings open, and Zach pulls away maybe an inch, but stays right there stroking his cock gently, squeezing at it. Neither of them even glance around to see the interloper – or, more correctly, the innocent studio executive come to relieve himself – but Chris does wonder if they look weird standing elbow-to-elbow like they are. After all, society has rules about urinals, _strict_ rules, and Zach is breaking more than one of them.

But the guy doesn’t even glance at them, just stumbles up to the far end and pisses clumsily into his sequestered urinal.

He doesn’t wash his hands on the way out.

“He was hammered,” Chris whispers, after the door closes behind him.

“Yup,” Zach agrees in a normal voice. “Now are you going to get on with it?”

With a herculean effort, Chris blocks out Zach’s presence, and finally manages to get going. Once he’s started, it’s easy enough to keep at it, even when Zach suck on a finger and worms his hand down Chris’s crack to stroke at his hole. “Open up for me,” he murmurs, and presses the tip of one finger inside just as Chris hits peak release-pressure.

“Fuck,” Chris breathes, and clenches his muscles to make sure his stream doesn’t suddenly dry up.

“Yeah, clamp down on it,” Zach murmurs, and wriggles his fingertip to make Chris gasp. He’s abandoned all pretense now, one hand stroking at his cock in earnest and the other busy with Chris’s asshole.

If someone comes in, they’re totally screwed, but the pleasure of it is more important to Chris right now. He’s just about done, and then he _is_ done, thankfully, because he’s getting too hard to pee comfortably. He shakes off awkwardly and then, because he can’t help himself, he turns the shake into a caress, and the caress into a squeeze, and Zach’s still finger-fucking him, and then they’re messy-kissing and jacking themselves over a public urinal.

Yeah, it’s kinda gross. But it’s also really fucking hot, and Chris is so into it he doesn’t protest when Zach drags him into a cubicle. “Get your pants off,” he mutters into Chris’s neck. They’re both struggling to undress him, and their dicks keep colliding.

Chris snorts with laughter, and then they both freeze as the door opens again. After a moment, Zach gives him a wicked smile. He spits into his palm and starts jacking Chris’s dick, staring him dead in the eye.

_Fucker_ , Chris mouths, but he doesn’t pull away. He reciprocates; and so they stand there pulling at each and breathing heavily into each other’s face while they wait for the bathroom to clear again.

“Get your fucking pants off,” Zach says again once the guy’s gone. “Seriously.”

“Seriously chill,” Chris retorts. “I gotta be careful. I’m not mopping the floor tiles with Ralph fucking Lauren.” He’s hopping on one foot, trying to balance with a hand on Zach’s shoulder, until Zach huffs and yanks his pants right down to his ankles. _“Hey!!”_

“Step,” Zach says, and Chris steps out of his poor wrinkled pants. Zach, thankfully, shakes them out and hangs them up on the door hook. “And those,” he says, snapping at the band of Chris’s briefs, where they’re stretched around his knees.

Chris automatically does as he’s told, because he’s thinking mostly with his genitals at the moment. Besides, he adores Zach’s bossy side, and the frowny-face he gets when he’s like this. Zach slings his underwear over the roll-holder and prods him in the chest.

“Sit,” he says, and Chris sits. It’s weird, his ass hanging over the toilet and his cock stiff between his thighs. The whole thing feels dirty and sexy and reprehensible, and he loves it. Wants it. _Needs_ it.

“Get this open,” Zach says, yanking at Chris’s artfully unbuttoned shirt, and Chris hurriedly undoes the rest of the buttons before Zach feels inclined to rip the shirt open. Zach’s still fully dressed, and doesn’t bother pulling his pants down. He even keeps his shirt tucked in around the back. His dick is free, though, free and hard and his slit is shining with pre-come. At least, Chris thinks it’s pre-come. Zach shuffles in between his legs and brushes the slick head of his cock across Chris’s mouth. Chris moans, licks his lips.

“Yeah, you like that,” Zach says, running a hand through Chris’s hair. He taps at Chris’s chin. “Open.”

Chris is half inclined to ask about exactly where this is going, because they _are_ at a work function, after all. But he trusts Zach. He trusts Zach not to, for example, spray him down and then expect Chris to wander back out there drenched. But he’s also had enough champagne that the idea of walking around a Hollywood party soaked in Zach’s piss doesn’t seem like a bad idea anyway. He opens his mouth obediently and waits.

Zach dips the tip of his cock in, just enough to depress Chris’s tongue, and pulls out again. “I bet you didn’t think tonight was gonna go this way, huh?”

Chris makes an _ahh_ noise, because his mouth is still wide open, and Zach grins.

“Look at you, baby, rock-hard and drooling for it. You want my dick?”

“Yeah,” Chris says roughly, and swallows. His mouth is getting dry.

“But we’re in a _public bathroom_ , Pine.” Zach’s eyes are sparkling down at him. "At a _work function_."

“I wanna taste you.” _That_ gets a result. Zach grips his jaw and just about yanks his mouth open again, pushing his cock in like it’s a smooth ride to the back of his throat. Chris gags, and Zach pulls back. “Come on,” Chris rasps. “You gonna fuck my face or—”

Zach slams back in, right down, until Chris’s nose is buried in his bush. Chris fights to adjust, and Zach, thankfully, gives him a minute. Chris can feel spit welling, running down his chin, and then Zach pulls back, lets Chris catch a breath. He leans down to pinch Chris’s nipple. “Jack your dick,” he whispers, just as the bathroom door opens again, and two, maybe three pairs of feet walk in. They’re talking loudly about a disappointing blockbuster, but Chris has no trouble tuning them out when Zach plunges back into his mouth, deep enough that he chokes on it and they both still again.

The execs fall silent and Chris, his throat still flexing around Zach’s hot cock, his eyes squeezed shut, can imagine the looks on their faces. The only sounds after that are a throat clearing, a noisy stream of urine, flushing, running water, and finally, mercifully, receding footsteps and a door closing.

Zach strokes his fingers up Chris’s neck, like he’s trying to feel how far in he’s buried. Chris swallows involuntarily, and Zach grunts. “At least they washed their hands,” he says. “Nice and clean. Not like you at all. You’re a dirty little slut, aren’t you?”

Chris can’t even whine a response; he’s too full of cock. So he looks up at Zach with watering eyes, and that’s it. Zach shoots, flooding hot and slick into Chris’s throat, his face a picture of surprise and ecstasy. “Oh, God,” he murmurs when he’s stopped panting. He strokes at Chris’s face. “You take it beautifully.” He dislodges, still thick, and Chris feels a ribbon of spit snake down his chin as Zach’s dick retreats.

Chris is drunk. He must be drunk. He must have imbibed _much_ more champagne than he realized, because it’s the only explanation for what comes out of his mouth next. “I wanna drink you.”

Zach cocks an eyebrow. “You just did, baby.”

“I mean…” He swallows down thick spit and the residual taste of Zach’s jizz. Shame goes off like an alarm in his subconscious; _shut up shut up shut up_. He shakes his head.

Zach is smiling, rubbing a thumb over Chris’s still-wet, half-open mouth. He bends down close and whispers in Chris’s ear, “Why don’t you tell me exactly what you mean? So we’re on the same page.” With that, he reaches down to give Chris’s dick a tug.

The need overcomes his embarrassment. “I wanna taste your piss,” he says in a rush.

“You wanna _drink_ it, baby?”

Chris nods jerkily.

Zach straightens up again, brushing the backs of his fingers along Chris’s jawline. “You really _are_ fucking dirty, aren’t you?” he says, his voice hushed with awe, and Chris’s face heats rapidly under his stare.

“Yeah,” he admits at last.

Zach just laughs. “Okay, baby. If you really want it,” he says with a shrug, and Chris’s eyes go wide. “Not here, though,” Zach adds. “Not now. Not with a bellyful of bubbles and canapés. Not taking _that_ risk.”

Chris bites his lip, but Zach has a point.

“Lean back,” Zach is saying. “Play with that pretty cock of yours.”

Chris leans back as instructed. He can feel the cool of the ceramic through his thin shirt and it’s welcome against his fevered skin. He spreads his legs wide and squeezes his hand around the base of his dick, lifting his hips in a display for Zach. Zach’s eyes are soft, glazed with satisfaction. He’s stroking the fur on his belly like he’s hungry. Like he wants to eat Chris all up.

Chris lets out a moan as his hand works. It’s loud, echoing around the bathroom, and Zach takes a sharp intake of air.

He leans over Chris, fingers on his own soft cock, stroking at it. “How’s your hand feel, baby?”

“S’good,” Chris mutters.

“Yeah?”

Zach is smiling at him, a tender smile that seems out of place in their situation right now. Chris figures he must be come-happy, drunk on power more than Veuve Clicquot, thinking about when Chris is going to suck him dry in more ways than one.

“Oh,” Chris gasps, as his cock pulses. He runs his fingers under his ridge, teasing himself. “Yeah, it’s good.”

“Normally…” Zach breathes, and then bends lower, so he’s right at Chris’s ear. “Normally you like it a little smoother. Don’t you, baby? A little _wetter_.”

The whine Chris lets out is humiliating. A small, sober voice at the back of his brain is saying something about _at a work function_ , but he tunes it out. His heart is banging, reverberating, making his voice shake when he says, “You gonna help me out?”

“We’re at a work function,” Zach says. His voice is shaking too, but with suppressed laughter.

“Fuck it, I don’t care. Do it.”

“Mm. Say please.”

“ _Please,_ ” Chris gasps out. He’s aching with need, buzzing with it, ready to crack like lightning. He’s jacking himself with light fingers, because he’s gonna shoot soon, and he wants to hold out. He wants Zach to—he wants Zach to—“Come _on_ ,” he moans, way too loud for this very public situation.

Zach is smiling that beatific smile again, the one that puts Chris in mind of saints and angels. “Alright,” he says gently. “Okay, baby.” He trails a finger down Chris’s chest, moving his shirt well out of the way. “I’ll help you. Get you nice and wet.”

He moves to stand between Chris’s legs, aiming his cock with his right hand and using his left to cup Chris’s face. His thumb runs along Chris’s lips and Chris flicks his tongue at it until Zach obligingly slides it into his mouth.

“Wanna get plugged up, huh?” Zach murmurs. “God, I’d should’ve had you in here. I should’ve done it, got my dick in your ass and fucked you silly over the toilet. Lean back more. Give me some room. Get your cock out the way, I wanna see that cute pink sack of yours.”

Chris groans against the pad of Zach’s thumb, and slumps further back. He aims his dick back towards his stomach, keeping it out of the way. Zach’s approving “Good boy,” is a reward in itself. He holds his breath as Zach aims.

“Here you go,” Zach says softly, compassionately, like he’s doing Chris the biggest favor in the world. He starts peeing down on Chris’s balls, drenching them, and Chris’s mouth drops open. Zach’s thumb slides out, leaving a trail of spit down Chris’s chin.

Chris looks down at Zach’s pale honey stream saturating his junk. It’s warm. It’s comforting. It’s aromatic, and not unpleasant, and he inches down so the flow splashes up on his cock, across his knuckles as he works himself. “Oh, fuck,” he’s whispering. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The bathroom door opens, and footsteps tap their way to the urinals. Zach gives a final spurt, and that, combined with the unsuspecting audience outside the locked cubicle door, sends Chris over. He lets out one low, “ _Ahh!_ ,” before Zach gets his hand over Chris’s mouth, stifling him, making it hard for him to breathe. It just adds an extra something to Chris’s orgasm, which hits him hard, deep in the gut, surging out of him like a rolling wave, until he’s drenched his stomach and chest.

Chris rides through it with his eyes closed, and when Zach removes his hand, he sucks in grateful gulps of air.

“Fuck,” he can’t help saying again, quietly, and Zach lays a cautionary finger on his lips, grinning wildly.

Whoever their audience is, he coughs loudly, flushes the urinal, and flees without washing his hands. Chris can tell Zach’s noticed, based on the disapproving frown. He looks back at Chris then, running his finger over Chris’s Cupid’s bow and smirking. There’s no trace of angel now; there’s pure devilry in his eye.

“Look at the mess you made, Pine,” he purrs. “And us at a work function.”

Chris snorts. The wet warmth that just a moment ago had felt so luxurious is rapidly cooling. “Not just me, Quinto. Get me some paper, would you?”

Zach, tucking his dick away, obliges. He helps Chris mop himself up, wrinkling his nose. “Gross,” he announces, once most of it is gone.

“Yeah,” Chris says, running one last swipe under his balls. It comes out dry. “Gross, but hot. Can you run some of this under the tap? I think I’m at the stage where I need clean water.” He holds out a wad of toilet paper to Zach, who shakes his head.

“Nuh-uh. Gross, yes. Hot, definitely yet. And I want to watch you walking around the rest of the night marinating in it, baby.”

Chris stares at him. “Uh, people are gonna _smell_ me, Zach.” He’s still sitting on the toilet. Zach leans over him again and pushes his lips up against Chris’s temple.

“They sure will,” he sighs into Chris's hair. “I got you all marked up with my scent, baby, and I want everyone to get a whiff of you.”

Chris writhes. The seat is cutting into the backs of his thighs, and he’s starting to think about hygiene. Nonetheless, his dick gives a sympathetic throb. “But, _Zach_ —”

“Aw, come on,” Zach croons, and stands back, pulling Chris up to stand. “All that work we did, don’t let it go to waste. Besides, you won’t stink _that_ much with your clothes on.”

He’s…mostly right? Chris thinks, once Zach has dressed him again. He takes pedantic delight in it, like Chris is his life-size Ken doll, buttoning him up and straightening his collar. “I guess at least I’m dry,” Chris sighs. He takes a big sniff. “Is it really bad?”

Zach drops to his knees and shoves his nose in Chris’s crotch. “It’s delicious,” he says, muffled in Chris’s never-going-to-be-the-same Ralph Lauren.

Chris pushes him away, chuckling. “That’s not actually answering the question, but okay. I guess no one’s gonna tell me to my face that I reek.”

“Mmmmm,” Zach says. His eyes are shining as he looks up at Chris. “God, I hope they do, though. I’d love to watch you squirm. You go so red when you’re embarrassed, I could be across the room and see you light up.”

Chris wriggles out of Zach’s grip and Zach bounces to his feet. He seems energized.

“Come on,” Zach says again, wheedling. “I’ll run a bath for you when we get home. Lots of bubbles. And I’ll make French toast for breakfast.”

Chris opens the cubicle door and peers out. It’s clear. “I don’t know where you got this idea that appealing to my stomach’ll make me do kinky shit for you,” he says, and heads to the wash basins.

“Don’t go trying to fool yourself, Pine,” Zach drawls. He joins Chris at the basins, scrubbing his hands painstakingly with soap and water. “You love it.”

Chris catches his eye in the mirror and can’t stop the smile spreading wide across his face. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

On their way out, Zach grabs him in the doorway. “And don’t think I’m gonna forget,” he says softly. “That other thing you were begging for.” He pushes past Chris with a grin.

Chris, following a moment later when he’s regained movement of his lower limbs, finds himself cornered by a cute starlet he read with a few months back. She flings one arm around him, the other balancing a cocktail that sloshes alarmingly, and kisses his cheek. Her enthusiastic greeting is tempered a moment later as she wrinkles her nose.

On the other side of the room, he sees Zach’s delighted expression as he takes in the scene. Chris rubs a hand at the back of his hot neck and takes a deliberate step back from the actress, wondering exactly how far his miasmic cloud extends.

Still, he can’t stop the weird, twisted satisfaction he feels at the idea of Zach marking him out. He stands a little straighter, and meets Zach’s gaze. Zach raises an eyebrow, and Chris can all but read his mind: _Yeah, I know what you like_.


End file.
